


Mask

by prydon



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Brief References to Juno's depression/trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insecurities, Jealousy, Nureyev is a beautiful beautiful man and Juno makes sure he knows that, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prydon/pseuds/prydon
Summary: Very few people have ever seen Nureyev without any makeup on. He intends to keep it that way.Basically: Juno finds out about the insecurities Nureyev expressed about his appearance in Man in Glass and helps him through them.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 28
Kudos: 255





	Mask

**Author's Note:**

> Me, a person who's insecure about my skin, listening to Man In Glass: Oh I am going to project so hard onto this man

Nureyev watched Juno dance with the woman from one of the leather couches, sipping his glass of champagne.

They were undercover on a mission at a bar, their task to steal a necklace from around the bar owner’s neck. Juno had decided to go out on the dance floor to get a feel for the area and pick up information from the patrons. That was what he was doing now, presumably: picking up information. The woman he was dancing with was young and pretty, with bright purple hair that flowed in waves down her back. She was grinning widely, and so was Juno, his single eye sparkling.

He’d been doing that a lot lately: looking _happy._

The Juno that Nureyev had first met over a year ago had never looked that happy. He’d always had a cloud hanging over him, some darkness inside him, some death wish he was always subconsciously looking to fulfill.

Nureyev understood that darkness: it was trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Depression. The weight of the knowledge that Juno’s mother had killed his brother in a fit of rage and paranoia, thinking he was Juno. The persistent feeling that a part of him, once occupied by his twin brother, was now missing forever, and that he should have died instead. That he was the one who was supposed to be dead.

Apparently, over the months they’d been apart, Juno had been forced to confront those facts. The mere thought of having to confront his own past sickened Nureyev, and yet Juno had somehow come out the other side of it…improved. Changed, in a good way. He didn’t want to die anymore. He still felt a lot of pain and a lot of anger, but it wasn’t as ubiquitous and it wasn’t all directed inward like it had been before. He smiled bigger. Laughed louder. Wasn’t afraid to love anymore. He’d gotten _better._

Nureyev had only gotten worse.

“Hey there, Ransom.”

Juno slid onto the couch beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and planting a kiss on his cheek. The familiar brush of his stubble against Nureyev’s skin was a comfort. He sighed and leaned against Juno, staring at the stained carpet of the bar.

“What’s up?” Juno asked, narrowing his eye in concern.

“Nothing is _up_ , Juno.”

“Come on. I know you well enough by now to know when that’s not true.”

Nureyev took a deep breath. “You and that young woman looked rather lovely together, didn’t you?”

Juno stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Really? _You’re_ jealous? That’s actually kind of incredible. I didn’t know I was even capable of making you jealous. Actually, no- you were totally jealous of Zolotovna too, weren’t you? That’s why you were so angry when I was talking to her before you realized who she was. Holy shit.”

“I’m not _jealous,_ I just-”

Juno laughed. “Don’t worry about it, all right? I’m a one man kind of lady.”

“I never-”

“And the purple hair? Really? You think I’d be into that?”

“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Nureyev muttered, but he did feel slightly better after that.

He felt even better when the theft went off without a hitch, and they were able to proudly take the bar owner’s necklace back to the others. Buddy congratulated them on a job well done and sent them off to bed, as it was nearly two in the morning by the time they returned to the Carte Blanche.

Nureyev was still getting used to sleeping in the same bed with someone else, and he didn’t do it every night. Tonight, though, Juno had given him that look- not the _come hither_ look, but the other one. The _stay with me, I want to be beside you_ one. How could Nureyev ever resist that face?

So he’d dressed down to nothing but his velvet robe and now they were both curled up under the blankets facing each other in Juno’s bed, the bright light of the planet’s moons shining through the small ship window.

Juno snorted. “You forgot to take off your makeup.”

“…Ah.”

“I don’t know how you didn’t notice, considering how much of it you wear. Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

It wasn’t. Makeup was like a second skin to Nureyev at this point; he wore it so often. He put it on first thing when he awoke and only took it off right before sleeping. There were precious few that had ever seen him without it- like the knowledge of his name, the knowledge of his bare face was something known almost exclusively by Juno. He wasn’t entirely sure that simple forgetfulness was the only reason he’d left it on this time, though.

He drifted back to the bathroom and pulled out the makeup remover wipes he’d stored in Juno’s cabinet, still thinking of the woman with the long purple hair. Juno had said she wasn’t his type, and she certainly wasn’t Nureyev’s either, but she had been pretty. And young.

Why was it that despite the fact that Juno was several years older than him, he constantly felt so haggard and aged around him?

He slowly wiped off his face, revealing the much-too-prominent wrinkles that had been hidden by the foundation. The dark, tired shadows under his eyes. The way his skin wasn’t as bright or taut as it had once been. He knew he was a good looking man- much of his work relied on him being so- but he also knew that the knife edge of his appearance was dulling every year. His hair was even beginning to go grey, which had been such a horrifying revelation that he’d locked himself in his room for a day and refused to be seen by anyone after he’d discovered it.

He knew that Juno had seen him without makeup in the past, but now that he was looking at himself in the sickly bathroom light, every line and blemish on his sallow face there as clear as day, he wanted nothing more than to take out his makeup kit again and put it all back on. Maybe Juno truly was only attracted to him and had felt nothing for the purple-haired girl, but if so, _why?_

This new, happy version of Juno could’ve had anyone at that bar. Why had he chosen Nureyev instead, a man whose peak of beauty had long since passed? Whose mind and body seemed to deteriorate more each day?

He forced himself to lie back down in bed, though he faced away from Juno, staring out the window. After a moment he felt strong, soft arms wrap around his middle, and lips press against his neck.

“Is something wrong?” Juno asked. “You always sleep facing me. If I did something-”

“You didn’t _do_ anything, Juno,” Nureyev said with a frustrated sigh. He finally turned to face him, wearing a pouty expression. He felt painfully aware of how close their faces were, and how Juno could surely count all the pores and blemishes on him from here.

“Then…what is it?”

This was another thing that Juno was annoyingly good at now: recognizing other people’s emotions and communicating with them about those emotions. Nureyev hated it. Couldn’t they both just be quiet and lie to themselves that nothing was wrong like everybody else? “That woman at the bar…”

Juno sighed. “I already told you, Nureyev, I wasn’t interested.”

“I know. I know she wasn’t your type, and I believe that, but…what if she had been? You know, there are a lot of fish in the sea, my dear. A lot of beautiful people.”

“So what? I have you.”

The assurance and confidence with which he said that was pretty nice, but Nureyev still couldn’t really bring himself to believe it. He believed that Juno loved him, for whatever reason, but he didn’t really believe that he’d never leave him if he found someone better. He’d already left once, after all. “Yes. Yes, you do.”

Juno reached out and touched a hand to his face. Nureyev had to resist flinching away. He always enjoyed the touch of Juno’s calloused fingers, but his face was the place where he enjoyed it the least. When he was wearing makeup, he didn’t want them there out of fear that they would mess the makeup up, and when he wasn’t wearing it he didn’t want them there out of fear that Juno would be able to feel every imperfection and be turned off.

“’A lot of beautiful people’, you said. What, do you think you’re not beautiful?”

“We both know that I’m not what I once was, Juno,” Nureyev said. “There’s no use pretending otherwise. Every year I have to pass up jobs that I am no longer young enough to perform adequately-”

“Nureyev, you do realize I’m older than you, right? And that you’re literally the youngest person on this ship? Why are you suddenly having a mid-life crisis at _37?”_

“I…I don’t know,” Nureyev said, suddenly feeling rather silly. Why _did_ he feel this way?

Logically he knew he was still younger than many, and that he had to look halfway decent given the amount of strangers who still enjoyed flirting with and propositioning him, yet he felt self-conscious nonetheless. A part of him kept telling himself that if he hadn’t done his makeup perfectly, hadn’t styled his hair exactly right, hadn’t been wearing designer clothes tailored to his form, then they wouldn’t have given him a second glance at all. That none of his beauty was natural: it was entirely manufactured, and as much a façade as “Rex Glass” and “Peter Ransom” were.

Juno pressed his lips to Nureyev’s, pulling him from his thoughts. “You’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever met, and more importantly, the only one I’m in love with. All right?”

“Mm.”

Still, he hadn’t felt such a depth of worry about his appearance until Juno had come aboard the Carte Blanche. For all his scars and his tendency to wear the same old coat seven days a week, he cut such a dashing figure. He hardly looked his age at all- if Nureyev hadn’t known he was forty, he would have guessed he was in his early thirties at the latest. On that night in Zolotovna’s ballroom, he’d been the most radiant being Nureyev had ever seen.

Was Peter Nureyev really worthy of that radiance? Or did he pale and crumble next to it?

Juno was frowning. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I believe you…feel that way, yes.”

“But you don’t actually believe that it’s true. That you’re beautiful, even like this.”

Juno reached out a hand and put it on his face again, and this time Nureyev wasn’t able to keep himself from pulling away slightly. A series of emotions crossed Juno’s face- confusion, then hurt, and then a sad sort of sympathy that Nureyev hated.

“I…I’m sorry,” Juno said. “I just…didn’t realize you felt this way at all. I mean, you always seem so confident. I guess I was too wrapped up in my own insecurities to notice yours.”

“I’m not _insecure,”_ Nureyev mumbled grumpily, despite being completely aware of how ridiculous that denial sounded after the way he’d been acting.

“It’s okay if you are. I just want to make sure you know that…whatever you might think about yourself, it isn’t true. You’re an artist with a makeup brush, sure, but you don’t need to be to look good. You don’t need all the hair products or fancy clothes, either. Looking at you right now is incredible enough.”

Nureyev had never really considered that as a possibility. Some subconscious part of him had assumed that Juno merely tolerated seeing him in his undone state at night, his face bare and hair a mess and body cloaked in only a simple robe- he’d never stopped to think he might possibly still _enjoy_ looking at him when he was like this. That he saw nothing wrong with it.

He moved closer to Juno, ignoring the persistent hum in the back of his mind that was insisting _Get too close and he’ll see everything that’s wrong with you. Every flaw._

 _No he won’t,_ he bit back at himself. _He loves me._

“Looking at you is pretty incredible too, Juno Steel,” he said softly.

Juno laughed. “Oh, shut up. Don’t make this about me. This is about you right now, Nureyev.”

“I know. And…thank you, Juno. Really.”

“Just telling the truth.”

Juno kissed him, then again and again, whispering between kisses about how beautiful he was- and for the first time, Nureyev could almost believe that he was right. He could almost believe that time and pain hadn’t worn him down into something that was only attractive when hidden under expensive foundation and sparkling fabric. That he really _was_ beautiful.

It always took Nureyev at least an hour to get ready in the morning, which was to Juno’s great chagrin now that they shared a bathroom.

“Are you done in there yet, Nureyev?! It’s been ages!”

Nureyev didn’t have the heart to tell him that he actually hadn’t even started yet. He’d spent the past half hour staring at his reflection in the mirror and doing nothing else.

He hated it, the egotism that came with insecurity. How many rich socialites had he poked fun at for constantly checking their appearances in windows and puddles and compact mirrors? Yet here he was himself, just like Narcissus, but without even the luxury of vanity.

Instead of admiring his appearance, he was painstakingly searching for every potential flaw, then trying to weigh the pros and cons of allowing it to be seen. He’d gone to sleep with the brilliant idea that he was going to forgo makeup for the entirety of the following day, but now that it was morning he found that convincing himself to actually go through with this idea was much harder.

“Come on, Nureyev! The family meeting’s in five minutes, and Buddy will gut us if we’re late again.”

Nureyev froze, staring at the mirror. Five minutes. Even if he started it right now, there was no way he could finish his makeup in time for them to not be egregiously late.

He momentarily considered lying and saying he was sick, but that seemed melodramatic even for him, and could only have one of two results- either Juno would believe him and be worried about him, which would make him feel guilty for needlessly upsetting the love of his life, or he’d see through the lie, which would be embarrassing for both of them. No. He needed to get over this and go.

“I’ll be out in a moment, dear,” he said.

He quickly hung up his robe and got dressed. It was a simple enough outfit, but one he felt good in, which he hoped would counteract the anxiety of going bare-faced at least a little. He clipped on his earring and placed his glasses on his nose, thankful that the frames could help hide his dark shadows and crow’s feet when there was no concealer to do so.

He took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom to find Juno spinning in circles in his desk chair. As soon as he shut the door behind him, Juno leapt to his feet.

“Oh, thank god, took you long-” Juno stuttered to a halt, looking at him.

“What?” Nureyev asked, fixing him with a scowl. “I’m ready to go.”

“You are?”

“I said I’m ready, so I’m ready. Come on.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” Juno said.

Nureyev marched out of the bedroom, pointedly ignoring the wide smile spreading across Juno’s face.

He didn’t know what he was hoping would happen when they reached the meeting room. He didn’t really want them to make a big deal out of the change- he was already annoyed enough by how proudly Juno was looking at him, as if he was doing something _impressive_ and not something that other people did all the time without issue. At the same time, though, he’d feel strange if it was just ignored. It wasn’t as though they could possibly not notice.

He _did_ know what he was afraid of happening. He was afraid of the inevitable comments that would prove exactly what he’d always feared: that he looked tired. Sick. Old. That whatever his bare face looked like, it wasn’t good enough.

“There you two are.” Buddy was frowning at them when they walked into the room and took their seats. “I guess I should be grateful you’re only a few minutes late this time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Juno said. “We’ve heard the spiel.”

Nureyev couldn’t tell if her eye actually did rest on his face for a moment longer than usual or if it was just his imagination. He supposed it didn’t matter if it had. He remembered her own face, which he’d only seen in full on a couple occasions, scarred as it was by radiation. Logically he knew that her situation was much worse than his own and he had no right to complain, and yet for some reason he still wanted to sink into the floor anytime someone so much as glanced his way during the meeting.

He was used to everything in his life being so controlled. He chose his aliases, he chose his clothes, and he chose the mask of cosmetics he put on every morning. So long as he had total control over his appearance and the way he was being perceived, he could be comfortable. Confident. Taking even one of those things away left him feeling uncomfortably raw and exposed.

As it was, no one made any comment on his appearance. Of course they didn’t. They rarely ever did regardless, and there were much more important matters at hand, like how they were going to complete their next heist. After twenty minutes, Nureyev almost stopped thinking about it at all. As he’d mentioned to Juno, for him the makeup had been like a second skin- that meant not only did he not think about it when he was wearing it, but it was easy to forget when he wasn’t wearing it as well.

That is, he forgot about it until after the meeting ended and they were all walking out to get breakfast, at which point Rita stopped and stared up at him.

All his fear and self-doubt came tumbling back under her gaze, but he swallowed them down and said, _“What,_ Rita?”

The words came out more harshly than he’d intended, but right now he didn’t particularly care.

“Sorry, Mistah Ransom,” she said. “You just look different today. Took me a moment to notice.”

“Is that right?” he said coolly.

He braced himself for the worst, but then she just grinned and punched him lightly on the torso, which was the highest part of him she could easily reach. “You look nice! You should go out like this more often!”

Then she was gone, and that was it. No one else even spared him a second glance.

He jumped as warm arms wrapped around him from behind, letting out a surprised cry.

“Sorry,” Juno said into his shoulder. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Nureyev wasn’t easy to startle, so he knew he must have been very distracted to not have noticed Juno’s approach. He sighed and leaned back into the embrace. “Hey.”

“Rita’s right, you know. You _do_ look nice, and you _should_ go out like this more often.”

“You have to say that. You’re my girlfriend.”

He laughed. “Yeah, but Rita’s not.”

Nureyev couldn’t dispute that. “Fair enough.”

“If you want to go do your makeup now that you’re not under a time constraint, I won’t be upset, though,” Juno said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re amazing with the stuff and it looks great on you. I just…want you to believe that you look great without it, too.”

Nureyev was quiet for a moment, just letting himself sink into Juno’s arms.

Apparently it was for a longer moment than he’d realized, because Juno gave him a concerned look and said, “Is something wrong, hon?”

“No. No, I think I just realized something.”

He’d been so worried about what the others might think, but when they’d either completely ignored the change or complimented him, he realized he didn’t actually care that much after all. He appreciated Rita’s words, but he hadn’t needed them. It no longer mattered to him what anyone- friend or enemy, family member or target- thought of his face, so long as Juno liked it. So long as Juno loved him and thought he was beautiful.

And the way that Juno was looking at him now…there was no doubt in his mind that those things were true.

“Realized what?” Juno asked, furrowing his brow in that adorable Juno way that Nureyev had come to love.

“Nothing, dear,” he said. “I won’t be going back to the room, though. I’m fine like this.”

Juno’s smile then could have lit up the entire room.

“Oh, hush,” Nureyev said.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Stop smiling like that.”

“What, now you’re telling me I can’t smile at my beautiful boyfriend’s beautiful face?”

“Shut up,” Nureyev grumbled, then pulled him into a kiss.

“For once I’m not gonna have to spend the rest of the morning with your lipstick on my teeth,” Juno said slyly once they pulled apart. “I could get used to this.”

“Shut _up!”_ Nureyev said again, but he was smiling now too.

He knew he’d likely wake up tomorrow and put on the same amount of makeup that he usually did, but the assurance that the world wouldn’t end if he chose not to was rather nice. He slipped his hand into Juno’s and they walked together to the kitchen for breakfast, both grinning like schoolchildren.


End file.
